


An Aussie Abroad

by CavannaRose



Series: Rogues Fics [3]
Category: Captain Boomerang - Fandom, Suicide Squad (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Digger is a walking trigger warning, Gen, Homophobic Language, Misogyny, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Racism, Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George "Digger" Harkness comes to America to make a name for himself, and a quick buck to boot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the character, etc etc.
> 
> Captain Boomerang has been my favourite character for a million years. Note: This is very much pre New 52 canon. My Digger is more the late 80s, early 90s version, classic tunic and cap and all, but I've set this little tizzy in the 40s.

George "Digger" Harkness was a fairly simple man. He'd lived his whole life in the Australian outback, dirt poor, with a loving mother and the meanest sonuvabitch of a father ever to lay a hand on his child. There hadn't been much to eat, and less to do, but young Digger had his boomerang, and every chance he got he was outside practicing. The things he could make that beautiful piece of wood do took his breath away. Mam always encouraged him, but if Da caught him shirking chores to 'lark about with some bloody piece of firewood' there had been hell to pay.

Harkness stared at the letter in his hand. He loved his Mam, and it was hard to accept that she was no better than any other woman, but it sure made Da's behaviour make a lot more sense. He wasn't the man's son. Mam had had an affair with some wealthy American business man. He shook his head. Where had she even met the bloody drongo, isolated as they were? Regardless, George had left home, and the man that Mam claimed was his real father had sent him a ticket to America. He'd be a galah not to go.

So here he was, ages later, about to dock in New York Harbour. Apparently this Wiggins was trying to launch boomerangs as the new fad toy for American children. The Aussie grinned. To think, an ocker like him was gonna be on the telly! Finally, it was time for ol' Digger to get his piece of the pie. It was about bloody time, if you asked him. After the boat docked Harkness strolled down the gangplank, trying his best not to gawk at all the buildings. He'd never seen so many people in the whole of his life. He found a place out of the way, hefting his single bag over a shoulder as he watched the crowds flow and ebb around him. Everyone was so busy, everyone was so... unobservant...

With another grin he headed towards the address Wiggins had given him, unable to resist the urge to pick a few pockets on the way. Mentally he thanked the unsuspecting donors for their lovely welcome gift on this, his first day in America. Things were gonna be different here, he could feel it in his bones.

~*~*~*~

George "Digger" Harkness sauntered down the street. Amazingly enough, the old man had really come through. He was making fairly decent dosh, and all he had to do was dress up in the monkey suit, and throw a few 'rangs for the kiddies. He'd never been so flush in the pockets before, and he was starting to look at this America in a different light. It really was the land of opportunity. Still... he wanted something more. If he could get this much cheddar for doing practically nothing, then they were clearly holding out on him. He started to get angry, working himself up into a fit of anger over imagined slights. He took a quick turn left back to the flat he was staying at. Perhaps this Captain Boomerang the old man was so proud of would go get himself a bigger piece of the pie. The piece he deserved.

Suited up, and armed with the tool he knew so well, he returned to the streets, the light fading as dusk approached. He'd play it safe this time. Be careful. Scouting out a jewelry shop he stood in the alley across the street, carefully judging the distance. He threw one, then a second boomerang with careful precision. The first shattered the glass window, coming back to his hand just as the second 'rang swooped inside, gathering gold and pearl necklaces off a display and returning, burdened, to his hand. Harkness laughed. It had worked! It had bloody worked! The sound of officers and sirens echoed up the street so he turned, fleeing down the alley and back towards his flat. Things here just got more interesting.

~*~*~*~

The one thing Digger had forgotten to count on with this most-expenses paid trip to the Americas was actually having to do the job the old man had invited him over for. So he pulled on the ugly-arse monkey suit. Funny, it hadn't seemed so hideous when he was using it for his own purposes. Maybe he was just resentful that he'd be paraded in front of a bunch of screaming, snotty kids and their parents today.

Sighing the Aussie adjusted the cap to a sufficiently rakish angle. Maybe if he was lucky there'd be some lonely housewives in the crowd, just looking for a handsome bloke with a charming accent. Practicing a friendly smile and wave he shook his head, tucking the boomerangs into his bandoleer. At least he'd have those with him. He was always at his most impressive with a 'rang in hand, too bad he couldn't knock back a tinnie before the gig, but the old man had been pretty clear on the alcohol around kids rule.

~*~*~*~

George "Digger" Harkness had had enough. The old man may have sired him, but he wasn't going to be his fucking dancing monkey anymore. Besides, he'd earned a tidy sum on the side knocking places over in this ridiculous getup. He was a much better thief than he was a toy mascot. Stomping into Wiggins' office he tossed the pieces of the contract on his biological parent's desk.  
  
"I'm bailin' out, Wiggins. I didn't expect ta flick ya so fast, and I ain't gonna feed ya a gobful, but I'm gone."  
  
Without waiting for a response the irate Australian stomped out of the room, leaving the startled toy magnate staring gape-mouthed at the place where he had been.  
  
Furiously, Digger stormed through the city streets, knocking into a few pedestrians as he muttered colourful invectives against his paternal progenitor. America was not turning into the walk in the park he'd expected. It was supposed to be easy street, not screaming brats and scornful glares. If he'd wanted to be treated like dirt he'd have just stayed in Oz, dealing with the bastard who'd raised him.

~*~*~*~

Working angry was never a good idea, but Digger had to do something to work out his frustrations. He moved through the streets, seeking a small bank he'd noted just on the edge of the West Side. It was down a quiet side street, easy pickings as far as he was concerned. He straightened out the bloody cap that came with the monkey suit. Captain Boomerang was about to send a big old rack off to Wiggins Toy Company.  
  
Pulling out his boomerangs he sidled into the small bank, sauntering up to the counter past the waiting customers. A murmur picked up until he cut a dramatic pose in front of the counter.  
  
"Evenin' folks. Do what ya told an' she'll be apples tonight. Note that ya ain't gotta Buckley's chance of gettin' the pigs out before I cause ya trouble, so ya best ta just giver over."  
  
With a laugh he held out his sack to the teller. "Filler up, cobber, or I'll do yer block, got it?" Trembling the man complied, handing over bills to the irate Australian. He almost wished one of these woos would take a swing at him, but no such luck. Looks like he was getting out of here cash in hand.


	2. Chapter 2

In these troubled days, most folks kept inside at night. This created a perfect atmosphere of opportunity for an enterprising bloke like George "Digger" Harkness. He kept to the quieter sides of town, away from even the small bustle of weekday night life. For the last several weeks he'd been scoping out a small bank, and he knew that the money truck came for pickup the next morning, which meant the vault was at it's fullest tonight.

Adjusting his cap to a rakish angle, he admired himself in the nearest shop window, giving himself a devilish smile. He did cut a fine figure in these togs, he had to admit. He double checked the contents of his bandoleer, and took note of the time on his watch, using the scant light of the crescent moon. In five minutes the night security guard would step out the back door for his cigarette break. Briskly he crossed the street, getting into position by the exit. His timely arrival was rewarded as the young man was revealed in a rectangle of light. Digger's boomerang flew, passing over the guard's head and drawing the man's attention.

"Who's there?" the gentleman called out, hand going to his belt as he peered around. The Aussie smiled as his projectile came back around, hitting the boy in the back of the neck, dropping him to the ground. Chuckling to himself, Digger bent down and rummaged through the man's pockets, taking the bank keys, and his wallet too. Never waste an opportunity. He moved quietly through the bank, taking a few extra moments at the cage outside the vault as he figured out which key went where. Finally he was there, standing in front of the vault. He wasn't exactly a safe cracker, but the steel didn't seem too thick. He ran his hands along the boomerangs on his bandoleer, stopping at one he'd been working on for awhile. 52% ammonium picrate and 48% TNT, the explosive charge was capable of piercing the side of an armored car, one little bank vault should be nothing. Ducking behind the nearest counter, he took aim and then covered his ears.

The blast was louder, brighter and hotter than he'd anticipated, particularly at such close quarters. Even within his semi-protected location he found himself pelted with molten shrapnel. Swearing profusely, he picked his way through the flames that seemed to be sprouting up everywhere. At least the vault was open. He crammed as much un-flambeed money into his bag as possible before the all too familiar sound of sirens could be heard. Swearing again, the Aussie dashed out the back, tripping over the still unconscious security guard before disappearing into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Digger was flush in the pockets for once, his last job had left him rolling in it, that and the cash from the old man had the Aussie in an uncharacteristically good mood. Whistling a jaunty tune, he strode down the streets of Central City. His gig as the face of Wiggins' Toy Company meant he'd be doing some radio adverts on some local station for a few days, but for now he was on the hunt for booze and entertainment... Maybe even a sheila or two if the night provided.  
  
The evenings in the twin cities were quieter than Chicago, where he'd fist landed, but that mattered little. Every town had a night life, you just had to look for it. Up ahead, he finally saw what he was looking for. The flickering lights promised gambling, and who knew what other vices to aid and abet in the depletion of a man's billfold might be discovered alongside that age old hobby?  
  
He ran a calloused hand through his reddish curls, not that anything would really tame them. Adjusting the collar on the overly expensive pullover he'd allowed the old man to purchase for him, he stepped through the door.  
  
Sights and sounds bombarded his senses, nearly overwhelming him after the quiet of the streets. Whatever clever drongo ran this joint was a dab hand at the sound proofing. He might just have to get the name of their contractor, assuming he was ever going to settle in somewheres.  
  
Sauntering through the building, his keen eye gauged the various entertainment tables made available for the gamblers' pleasures. He had an affinity for Craps, himself, anything with a thrown element really, but watching the play for a few turns he was almost positive that the dice were loaded. It was carefully done, not heavy enough so they always turned up the same, but enough so that when the tosser railed them in the right way they definitely favoured nines, not a commonly called number,.   
  
Someone was being naughty, and that always provided an opportunity for an enterprising gentleman willing to take advantage, which Digger Harkness always was. With a broad, predatory grin, he moved forward to the table, watching the idiots bet a round of sevens, as was usual at such things.   
  
"I'll put fifty on nine mate, and bet yer double that you'll roll 'em twice."  
  
The table runner startled, his eyes shifting nervously to the left. "Um... The table's full... sir... If you'd like to try another..." The young man shifted nervously again, one hand near his pocket.  
  
Digger's eyes glinted, his voice hitting a particularly steely note. "Is that the game yer gonna run, then? Well enough." He slid one hand into his jacket pocket, watching the young man as if he was picking where to stab him first. "Who's in charge 'round here? I got a hankerin' fer sommat high stakes, and yer all know that requires his 


	4. Chapter 4

Oh, the staff of The Full Monte Casino was all in a terrible titter. The frazzled attendant Digger had called out especially so, with a slightly panicked pip in his step. Furtive glances and inquisitive murmuring were both directed towards the possible high roller. Just who was this strange man? All but one other guest in the establishment wondered anyhow, the black sheep being a hunched over figure sitting to the Aussie's left, who carefully nursed an oddly flamboyant drink while letting out a single laugh. "You sure got the big man on the ropes, mister." James Jesse idly remarked, affecting a slurred voice as he turned to address his neighbor/thorn in his side/God given source of amusement.

Startled by the interruption of his browsing of the ladies, the Australian troublemaker shooed the lovelies aside to pay attention to the gentleman at his other side. The chaos amidst the staff that he had caused impacted him only marginally, he wasn't really one for ruffling feathers unless the end result would be something that suited him. The ensuing chaos was something to be tolerated, not enjoyed. Digger's eyes locked on the fruity drink in the man's hand, one hairy eyebrow darting up in speculation. If this was some kind of fairy fruit making a pass at him, things were gonna get ugly... fast.  "It ain't about puttin' nobody on th'ropes. It's about gettin' yer piece o' the pie, if'n yer got the smarts fer it. If'n yer catch a bloke at tricks, he owes yer if'n he wants yer ter keep quiet on it."

Digger squinted at the flamboyant man. Between the girly drink and the dramatics, he was plum sure he'd landed himself beside a fairy, but he'd seem rather pleased by the busty waitress, and the look she gave suggested it wasn't the first time he'd gotten handsy. It was all too confusing for a simple Aussie bloke. What did catch his attention was the attendant approaching the blonde fella and calling him sir. Harkness felt his ire rising. Nobody but nobody made a fool out of Captain Boomerang. He slammed his fist down on the table. "Is this all a bloody joke ter ya?"

"Abso-rooty-tutely not, my toy toting friend. And I'd thank you to not damage the wood veneer, lest your name become One Arm Barm." James's smile was so obviously false. Had the Captain been so fixated on the fixed tables, that he hadn't noticed guards one, two or three placed throughout the establishment as customers? The benevolent trickster felt completely at ease. In fact, he was merely wondering if Digger would catch the off handed toy comment, and realize its significance. Regardless, Jesse soon gave a single, curt nod. "The real joke is a lot funnier than this. My friend just informed me you were wishing to play a game? Wishing it quite rudely as it were, but I'll allow for your brutish etiquette."

Digger growled, shoving himself from the bar, knocking the stool over as he moved himself further into James' personal space. The Aussie was a bully of the worst sort, not overly clever either, and he certainly had missed the scattered defenders on the establishment floor. "I think yer lyin' ter me mate, an' I think yer havin' a larff at me expense to boot. I ain't havin' it. Not fer nuthin." He hocked a loogey and spat on the floor, close enough to the Gambling Den's owner to get some splashback on his shiny shoes. "Ain't nobody got time fer yer swill if yer not playin' straight. Nobody but nobody mocks Digger Harkness and gets away with it."


End file.
